


War in the Pacific

by Karabin090



Category: Original Work
Genre: Historical, Japan, Marines, My First AO3 Post, No Smut, POV First Person, United States, War, Work In Progress, World War II, banzai!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-03
Updated: 2019-12-03
Packaged: 2021-02-18 12:49:31
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21661093
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Karabin090/pseuds/Karabin090
Summary: "Hell is empty and all the devils are here." -Shakspeare





	War in the Pacific

The official designation for the ships was ‘landing ship, tank’ or LST. We called them ‘Large Stationary Targets’. The chaplain was saying a prayer on the deck of that LST, asking God to protect these fine marines as they stormed an insignificant island called Kaurawa someplace in the Pacific ocean. “Amen.” the chaplain finished and stepped aside for Captain Kelly. He was a tall man, and thick as an oak tree. Been with us since Guadalcanal and had two purple hearts. Whenever he spoke, people listened. “Listen up Marines, our overall goal is to secure the airfield and you have to get off the beach as quickly as possible. Once you land, follow the man in front of you and use the Shermans and LVTs as cover. Follow the man in front of you, and once you get to the tree line clean your weapons! God bless you.” We followed up with a single “Oorah!” and clambered down into the Higgins boats, swaying slightly above the blue waters. A voice on deck yelled, “Alright we’re good to go!” I heard the chains detach from the LCVP and for a moment I felt weightless before the bottom of the boat slammed into the water. Water sprayed us each time the craft hit a wave. It wasn’t long until we heard shells whistling in the air, making plumes of water rise up as they exploded. To our left, I saw a burst of flame as the Japnese scored a direct hit on an LVT, disintegrating the turret and most of the hull. Stray bullets began dinging and ricocheting off the boat. One of the rear .30 cal gunner’s head jerked back violently as a stray MG round struck his face. His upper body fell limp, his helmet rolling into our feet. Our platoon CO told the driver to keep steady. Next to me, private Buckley threw up, and one made note of it. The driver yelled over the shells and gunfire, “Thirty seconds!” The beach came closer, and I could see the flashes of the Jap machine guns, their operators hidden in log bunkers camouflaged by the jungle vegetation. The LCVP ran aground on the sandy shore, the ramp fell down and in an instant half of the men inside dropped dead before they could react. I did a dolphin dive onto my stomach and began crawling, keeping my head down as bullets zinged by my ears. As I crawled towards the nearest cover in the form of an outcrop in shallow water. The water was red, and blood was flowing from bodies floating in the tide. Yells and screams were all around me. The world seemed to slow. Men fell as easily as if a child was knocking over his toy soldiers, tanks caught aflame and their crews bailing out only to be cut down by the ruthless interlocked machine guns. A tight grip on my shoulder snapped me out of my trance, and I turned to see Sergeant Johnston in front of my face. “Come on,” he yelled, “We’re regrouping over there!” he pointed to a couple of burning hulks which were once Shermans and the couple dozen marines clinging to it as if it were a life preserver. I nodded in understanding and followed him and the last few men of his squad to the rally point. We stumbled our way through the red waters and multiple times a splurt of blood emerged from a man who then promptly collapsed into the surf, dead. A shell detonated mere meters away, blowing off a man’s legs and lower torso. We reached the rally point, where Captain Kelly was doing his best to organize the men. He was desperately trying to communicate with the destroyers, demanding a barrage from their 5-inch guns, “We need a fire mission, right fucking now!” he bellowed into the field phone, while Japanese bullets were barely missing the top of his helmet, “We aren’t going to get off the beach unless that treeline is blown to Kingdom Come!” We ducked our heads as a shell burst 10 meters from us. Kelly then looked up from the field phone and shouted: “Keep your heads down!” I kept my head pressed against the wet rock, gritting my teeth when I heard the distant rumble of thunder, and moments later the sound of incoming shells. The noise from the treeline was like a million fireworks exploding next to my ear.

I could feel my eardrums beginning to burst when the noise suddenly stopped, and it became quiet as the ringing in my ears died down. I peeked my head up over the rock. What was once a lush wall of bushes and palm trees was now a charred moonscape. The beach itself was littered with the mangled corpses of marines and the wrecks of armored vehicles. Kelly ordered us to move forward, and we stepped around the innumerable bodies of our fellow soldiers. I saw one guy with his eyes wide open, but with his lower torso ripped open spilling his organs onto the sand. His eyes bore a hole through me, and I will never soon forget those eyes. With much difficulty, I suppressed my gag reflex and moved my eyes forward. We reached the treeline, now a collection of stumps and what I saw reminded me of what dad told me about France when he was in the army. Tree stumps, remnants of log bunkers and tangles of barbed wire and sandbags were scattered amongst seemingly endless rows of craters. Whenever we checked an empty trench or dugout for Japanese, some of us hopped down into them rifling through the dead Japs for souvenirs, and some took items from Japanese that were still breathing. When they were finished with the search of the surviving Japanese, they promptly shot them in the head. We are fighting a just war, but it has turned us into monsters. 


End file.
